The Sundering Worlds

The Sundering Worlds Vol. II

The Story So Far

28

MAR/17

“Sit, sit,” she said. "Gather ‘round the fire. That’s right. That’s right. Now, quiet down. Yes. Just so. Just so.” The fired danced around the story teller’s face. Her gray hair glistening in the moon light. “Are you ready?”
The crowd nodded in anticipation.
“Long ago,” she began, “there was a nameless one, called by the gods, who ventured forth from his enclave. He was a traveler, of sorts, who, along with another, decided to accompany the plentiful goods of Neverwinter to a southern village named Phandalin. Once there, however, these two, Pekeporo and Corvus, found a city in disarray. A band of evil men, orcs, and half-elves had taken ownership of Phandalin. But this was nothing to our heroes, for they soon dispatched the invaders deep within their hideout and came to befriend a drow elf, a paladin named, Elzalath.”
“Is that Elzalath the forsaken?” a man shouted just beyond the storyteller’s vision.
“Just the one,” she nodded. “But do not outpace the very story I am weaving.” The storyteller paused to let her audience adjust. “Yes, it was Elzalath—that troubled soul. She had been taken prisoner by the Red Guard, but not for long. Pekeporo and Corvus rescued her and—”
“And saved Phandalin?” a child near the storyteller asked.
She shook her head. “No. No, that is not the story I have to tell. In fact, the city fell to a drow army. It was overran soon after a rogue general sided with the drow against Neverwinter. But that is another tale, for another time. The reason our adventurers—the three you know so well—were not present was because Corvus’ adopted parents had been taken prisoner in a village just outside of Thundertree.”
“And K’otquchoq saved them? Isn’t that right?”
The storyteller stared at a young woman whose face was aglow. “Is that what you heard?”
“Yes,” she said, abashed. “I did.”
“No,” the storyteller shook her head. “The wolf is a friend of Pekeporo, that is the truth, but a tortured animal. A beast of mixed passions. He was there, to be sure, but he was not alone. The three adventures, and their beast companion, saved Corvus’ family and unlocked the secret of Mandibar’s Mirror, but not before the God of Choas, Asmodeus, touched Corvus.”
“His brand, you mean?” another shouted.
“Aye, that. He was a haunted man, after. But that comes in later. Saving his parents did him well, but it did nothing to alleviate the dreams that Pekeporo was having, given to him by the God the Verdant Temple.”
“Is that why he lost his arm?”
“Hush, child!” the storyteller said. “You know not of what you speak. Pekeporo is a great druid, perhaps the greatest throughout the Great Wheel. He slayed the aboleth and traveled across worlds. Be respectful, if nothing else.” She paused again and waited for the attention of those gathered around her. “But, yes, they quickly traveled south to assuage Pekeporo’s dreams. With the help of a well-known sea captain, Pekeporo, Elzalath, and Corvus traveled into the bloodmists and the Moon Isles. Once there, they were told the most important thing that they would ever hear: the aether between the worlds was slipping. The realms of the Great Wheel were sundering.”
A silence fell over the crowd. Not a whisper could be heard over the crackling fire. “And so,” the storyteller continued, “they met with the Emerald Emperor and traveled to another world. And, though they did not yet know it, their mission was simple, to seal the cracks of the planar realms, to heal the wounds of the cosmos.”
“But Elzalath?” one said. “She was transformed.”
“Aye, that is true. And even then,” the storyteller said, “no one knew which way she would turn.”